Splat
by akaeve
Summary: What happens when something disagrees with you.


**Splat**

He woke with a jolt. The time 02.32. He lay rigid on the bed. The sheets crumpled, and sweaty. No, please not again. His insides groaned, his head pounded and then so did his feet. Straight, for the head.

He sat there, on the porcelain seat, while his whole body functions collapsed in on themselves, he felt so sick.

As he tried to concentrate on what was needed first, he could feel his head begin to buzz. And then, the flashing white lights. It reminded him of Iraq, the explosion. Well, he could feel his stomach bloated with gas, just before he exploded…..

_Flashback_

"_Boss you fancy a take away. I mean it's Friday night, and I'm having the team round for a film, few beers…you know a let the hair down evening." Tony had asked from across the bullpen, "I was thinking if you just turn up about 9ish, with what you wanted there would be no arguments."_

"_Keep that in mind DiNozzo, thank you for asking." he had replied._

He remained conscious, just long enough to download his meal, and then, as everything went black, he hit the deck.

Was it hours? Was it minutes? It seemed a life time. He woke to find the cold tiles of the bathroom floor now warm under his naked sticky body. He looked at the bath runner, he didn't realise it needed cleaned until you really looked close up. He half-heartedly smiled to himself. He gingerly rose and knelt. So far, so good. But could he stand? It was then that his calf muscle gripped, tightened, he screamed in agony. It least it had taken his mind, momentarily, off his bodily functions. He curled up on the floor. He could feel himself start to hyperventilate. He needed to relax, deep breathes. He rubbed, no teased his calf, the muscle loosening he could feel himself relax, which was a bad idea, as he just made the safety of the pan…..again.

_Flashback._

_He had looked at the basement, the TV and the state of his life. Another Friday, on his own. He didn't like just turning up on his team. They didn't need an oldie, especially the Boss. Someone to cramp their style. But there was something in Tony's voice and his eyes that had made him…..well think. Was it a birthday? His birthday? One of the teams? Some anniversary? He had shaken his head. Maybe they just wanted to be friendly. He looked at the flier that had come in through the door. A new Thai carryout place, it was just round the corner from the Navy Yard. Call them up, give his order, call a cab, pick up, and head for DiNozzos'. He had popped in to his local deli and picked up a six pack of __Singha. Why he had bought he didn't know, just to have, he supposed? Better to have in the cooler. Just in case._

_He had washed and changed. Abbs had texted, as had Tony. He, that would be Tony, had a couple of DVD's. He had Air Force One….Hey Boss remember Kate…He remembered, it was the anniversary of when she had started with the team. He remembered they did this every year, but usually he declined. He thought hey, he was doing nothing just go and visit, won't stay too long._

_He always liked Air Force one, especially as there was an Agents Gibbs in the film, although that Gibbs got killed._

_Gibbs had called a cab_

_The evening had been actually quite fun. The banter between the boys had made him forget his own troubles. Abby and Jimmy were in debate about technical verses practical procedures, even Ducky had been not his usual story telling person. He had given everyone space to just be themselves. _

It didn't taste bad the Thai food. In fact it was the best he had eaten. He thought back to what else he had eaten yesterday. Six hours, that was what they say, isn't it. Six hours. What else had he eaten. Then he remembered, the dessert that Tony had made. A Tiramisu. He had tried out of politeness. He now wondered, if he was the only one who now had this affliction.

Gibbs crawled back to bed. He lay in the darkness, his head spinning. He turned to lie on his side, his legs pulled up into the foetal position. He felt sick. He tried to think. Think in a straight line. Concentrate on the didtance. On a focal point. Don't let your mind wander. You just got more sick. He fixed his mind on a clock tower….he could feel himself being drawn…into the tower….. he felt relief.

The morning light slipped through the slit in the curtain. The ray of light, landing on his greasy, perspired back. He opened his eyes. He was cold, but he felt better. He looked at the time 06:23. Gibbs turned over, pulled the quilt over his body, and went back into a deep sleep.

The End


End file.
